Place of Torment
by FreedomOftheSeas
Summary: Davy Jones' Locker was truly the home of cruel and unusual punishment. But, perhaps, Jack could learn a little more about himself from... well, himself. COMPLETE!
1. I: Day 1

**A/N:** This was inspired by two drabbles I've written recently: "Cast the First Stone" and "Lack of Direction." Writing Jack, along with his conscience and the multiple Jacks in the Locker has quickly become one of my favorite things to explore. I love attempting to interpret Jack's actions through his thoughts and hope that this little series will introduce you, the reader, into his very interesting - but complicated mind.

Thank you Nytd for once again, being my beta fairy.

Reader Key:

**Bold **and _italicized _text indicates Jack's conscience. (Since I can't differentiate with the sizing of text on here :P)

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**Place of Torment: A Series of Unforeseeable Circumstances**

_**Day 1**_

_**---**_

Purgatory - a place of redemption and punishment, a circular dimension the purpose of which is to cleanse an individual of sin from secular consequences. Jack Sparrow was no different; unable to avoid or talk himself out of his fate -- a fate that awaited many sinful souls.

In his purgatory, he lay spread-eagle under the godless sky, fingers twitching with sparks of life. His kohl-lined eyes were lightly shut, shielding them from the harsh sun high above him.

A small grunt escaped his lips, his breath dispersing in the dense air around him, droplets of saliva running down from the corner of his chapped lips. He wrinkled his nostrils slightly, nervously twitching the top of his top lip as he began to feel the skin of his face bake in the blistering sun. He felt the sudden urge to shield his perspiring body from the heat of the sun, feeling the desperate message travel from his mind, down to his arms, signaling from synapse to synapse, but he could not move; the signals refused to register. He felt electrified discomfort, paired with horrid stinging sensations pass through his muscles, punishing his thought of movement. His mind began to panic as his hands begin to burn, sending sharp jolts of pain throughout the length of his body.

As each distressing moment aged, overwhelming heat continuously bore down upon him as if his body were being devoured by flames and besieged by sharp, stabbing needles. The sweat from his hot flesh oozed down his ribs, thighs, and neck – deteriorating his body within a cocoon of slime with diminutive particles feasting upon his flesh.

Each pain served its purpose. The prodding needles distracted Jack's mind from the sound of his bones cracking, bit by bit, puncturing his skin as it seared and deteriorated, becoming more malleable by the second. His mind preferred to endure the burning flames upon his flesh because it took away from the suffering of his muscles as they slowly tore away from one another, each individual fiber bursting and peeling from his bone.

Jack Sparrow was slowly being taken, mind, body and soul by his own hand; his own deal with the devil. No man can out deal the devil.

His final breath in the realm of the living escaped his collapsing lungs as his soul crossed over the blank edges of the map to the land of the dead. It was hard to believe that the free-spirited soul that dwelled within him wished to imprison itself within the limp body that lay before the sun in anguish.

Lips slowly parting, his body longed for the sweet taste of oxygen. He gasped loudly from deep within his throat, inhaling a profound, shuddering breath of dry air. His brown eyes grew wide, blinded from the brightness of the sun. Twisting his neck slowly, he stirred his limbs, cells reviving, heart pumping, and blood flowing - his body felt purpose once more.

He groaned as he moved his arms above his head, rounding out his shoulders against the ground, he cracked his wrist, feeling the tautness dissipate from his joints. Pointing his toes, he stretched out the muscles of stiff legs and abdomen, biting his lip as he sensed various heated patches of tenderness throughout his body. Propping himself up on his palms, he rose up upon his toes, pushing himself to his usual posture. Once fully on his feet, it seemed as though the wind wished to thrust him a few staggering steps forward. He attempted to shake off the fatigue that plagued his legs and the dizziness that came from the blood rushing to his head. Crossing one leg over the other, he held his arms up for balance before coming to a halt at the sight of his hat laying just a few yards away from where he was standing.

He smirked from the corner of his lip, gently licking his teeth with his tongue as he uncrossed his weary legs to make his way toward reclaiming his precious hat. He held his arms out to it, ready to grasp its weathered edges with his coarse fingertips.

He walked for a few moments, slightly hesitant; feeling as if the distance between him and his beloved hat had not diminished. He stopped, curling his top lip as he leaned back into the swagger of his hips.

"Hat," he uttered, holding his hands lazily behind his back as he averted his eyes to the ground. Lightly kicking several white, loose stones with his feet, he cleared his throat, adjusting his coat as he shifted his eyes back and forth between the ground before him and his hat.

"**Elusive little bugger, aye?" **inquired a voice in Jack's ear.

"_Elusive? It's a hat. How bloody 'elusive' could it possibly be?" _contested another voice, causing Jack to narrow his brow in determination.

In a sudden instance, he propelled himself forward, collapsing upon his hat with the full weight of his body. He coughed, feeling his breath forced out of his lungs from the impact, causing a thick cloud of white dust to emerge from the ground beneath him.

"_I don't think that was entirely necessary, mate," _the voice interjected, a few moments after the deed was done.

Jack simply smiled, revealing a fusion of pearl white and gold teeth. "Nay, that's what you think," he stated, letting a small laugh escape his lips as he held the hat up with the tips of his fingers.

"Oi! That's my hat, you thieving scoundrel…oh, Captain, is that you?" inquired a man behind him, confidently standing above Jack, casting his shadow upon his body.

Jack's eyes widened, clenching his hat tighter at the sound of the familiar voice behind him. He turned his head slowly. "Son, you must be mistaken, last time I checked…" his voice trailed before he could complete his snide remark, finally setting his gaze on he man above him.

"We've been waiting for you," the man stated.

"Oh," Jack muttered, fully turning his body forward, gripping his palms on the coarse ground as he crawled backward in awe at the sight before him -- a man identical to him in every aspect of his appearance, height and stature; paired with what seemed to be a matching intellect, wit and swagger.

"Do you not know who I am?" asked the man, curiously.

He slowly lifted himself from the ground, feeling the sun on his face once more as he cautiously stepped backward away from his replica's shadow. He hastened his pace with each step until turning to bolt away as swiftly as his legs would propel him. He refused to look back, hoping that what he saw was just a dream or rather – an illusion from too much heat. He, finally, had his hat, which was all he wanted and now it was time to go.

He ran for what seems like miles, feeling his heart pound through his chest with each grueling step. His pace diminished with time, body and mind slowly grew disheartened not only from the fatigue but because his surroundings never seemed to change. He drew himself to a stop, rounding his hips out to his usual stance, wiping rivers of sweat from his forehead before placing his palms on his knees, attempting to catch his breath. He closed his eyes for a moment, wishing to return to his usual poise.

"Well, that's not nice at all."

Jack's eyes grew wide as he turned, finding his twin behind him once again. "Ah!" he yelped, jumping back, jingling the items on his belt.

"Is something the matter?"

Jack didn't answer, he was frozen and standing so still that it looked as though he were holding his breath. He only moved his eyes, following his twin's hand as he waved it in front of his face, only inches from his nose.

"It's strange thing – losing one's mind and all," his twin confirmed, sighing while raising a skeptical brow. "Captain, I hope you return to your former self – can't weigh anchor without you, now can we?" he continued.

"Mr. Sparrow…" Jack began, unsure of how to identify this man. He cleared his throat, attempting to regain his composure.

"Aye, Captain?" Mr. Sparrow replied, awaiting his orders.

"We seem to be lacking in the ways of a vessel," Jack began, holding his arms out, flicking his wrists back to illustrate his point. "Can't sail with no ship," he confirmed.

"No ship?" Mr. Sparrow inquired, wrinkling his nose. "What about the _Pearl_?"

Jack laughed. "The _Pearl_? How could I possibly forget about my darling vessel?" he asked rhetorically, turning his back to Mr. Sparrow as he took a few steps forward. "Isn't she just marvelous?" he inquired sarcastically, motioning his arms toward the invisible ship. "Gotten rather thin hasn't she – must be from all the voyaging. I've put her through so much these days, Hell and high water, mythical sea creatures and all."

Mr. Sparrow stood for a moment, soaking in his Captain's words, slightly raising his brow. He stepped forward, placing a hand upon Jack's shoulder while turning him in the direction of a black spec in the distance.

"Captain," Mr. Sparrow began, raising an arm to the object in the distance, "the _Black Pearl_."

Jack walked several steps forward, letting Mr. Sparrow's arm drop from his shoulder as he shielded his eyes from the sun with his hand, peering out to black spec in the distance. He felt a bead of sweat drip down from his upper lip, weaving in and out of his mustache. He licked the drop with his tongue before it trickled down the crevice of his cheek, savoring the familiar taste of salt. It was as though a cord struck in his mind, inspired by the flavor of salt and the small image of his ship in the distance.

"The _Pearl_, you say?" he inquired suddenly, looking back at Mr. Sparrow.

"Aye, Captain," confirmed Mr. Sparrow.

Jack unlatched his compass from his belt, flicking it open with the tip of his finger. He looked down to it, longingly, for any sense of direction that it could give him. It spun wildly and gave him no indication of certainty. He sighed, falling to his knees as the compass continued to spin, with no sign of stopping.

"**Well that's not good."**

"_You're only looking at it from one perspective." _

"**This place is dismal any way you slice it – can't see how looking at any other perspective will help." **

"Where am I?" Jack asked, finally. "Am I in Hell?"

"_Bravo, now that seems like an excellent interpretation. But, to tell you the truth, mate - I'm not entirely sure."_

"**Nonsense, this can't be Hell … I imagined it to be a lot warmer than this, with, perhaps, more fire and brimstone?" **

"_Don't forget about the laughing mischievous sprite with the pitchfork." _

"Gents, please remind me why we've found ourselves in this vile place of torment – where ever it may be," Jack sighed, looking out before him, letting his eyes wander toward the invisible waves of heat that radiated from the ground.

"**Tis a viable question – a viable question that certainly deserves and possibly even requires a clear, justifiable answer."**

"_An answer that we don't really possess, mind you," _interjected the other voice._ "Rather, I see it as more of a collaboration of unforeseeable events originating from the day we first laid eyes on that bloody tart!" _

"Have to admit, she did and continues to do all that was necessary for her cause, at least in her mind. She knows how to get her way. Aye, it seems as though, our dear William has, in fact, not been frittering his life away with his swords," Jack confirmed, smiling a bit before returning to his desolate reality. "Perhaps, he's a bit more like dear ol' Jack than I might have hoped."

The voices were calm for a moment, leaving Jack to his own self realizations before intruding into his thoughts.

"**I see quite a different starting point, if you please." **

"_Do tell_," the second voice snarled.

"**Let us begin with that slimy catfish, Jones. Were we not the ones who struck a bargain with the avaricious cephalopod? Furthermore, gentleman, were we not the ones in the rowboat, swiftly rowing away to safety?"**

"Aye, I think we're all well aware of that," Jack stated, rolling his eyes.

"**Why did we stop?" **

"_Bad decision …" _

"**So, are we confirming that it's the bloody compass' fault we're in this mess?"**

"_Seems like a justifiable conclusion, if you ask me." _

"Don't blame the bloody compass, it's not able to defend itself," Jack interjected, holding his hands up. "Besides, as you two gents have so eloquently concluded -- it's my own damn fault that we're in here in the first place," he sighed, rising to his feet.

"_Your fault? I'm not quite certain that we were implying that. It seems a bit far-fetched."_

"Sir?" Mr. Sparrow interrupted, stepping forward to meet Jack by his side. "Shall we? The crew's been waiting long enough."

"Aye, how do we get there?" Jack inquired, looking over his shoulder to Mr. Sparrow for a response. He turned, finding that his question would, regrettably, go unanswered, for Mr. Sparrow had disappeared in thin air.

He adjusted his hat on his head, moving several of his loose dreadlocks from his face. "Right," he affirmed, swaggering forward to begin his quest.


	2. II: Day 16

**A/N**: Part two of Jack's experiences in the locker. Thanks to m'lady **Nytd** for her beta-magic!

Please enjoy! Reviews are always appreciated.

_**Day 16**_

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Sweat, perspiration, condensation, precipitation, what have you. It was present and palpable, cascading down sweltering skin and pulsating temples. It had taken Jack sixteen grueling days on foot, beneath an unforgiving sun, to reach the black spec he saw in the distance the very first day he had arrived. As it grew larger, turning to something enticingly familiar, his heart began to warm, feeling his mind encourage his muscles to keep moving each time he laid eyes on it. He could not deny his passion; it was his _Pearl_, his darling _Black Pearl _– the woman that loved him in ways that an ordinary wench couldn't comprehend.

Wavelike muscle contractions swept through the walls of his stomach, mixing his gastric juices since the option of food was not a possibility. Painful, severe, and involuntary spasms erupted throughout his body. His throat was dry and saliva sparse and even if present, hot – it was always hot. No matter where he was, he could not escape the sun. It had robbed the moon of its waltz of darkness and had no intention of giving it back.

"**S'been a long time…"**

"_Aye, feels like years."_

"**Nay, months, I reckon."**

"_But, who's counting, really?"_

His legs finally gave out, causing him to topple to the ground upon his knees then rotating a bit to fall on his arse, rolling finally onto his back, letting his shoulders lay flat in exhaustion.

"_Oi, fleshy one! What are you doing?"_

"Giving up," Jack replied, sighing in defeat.

"**Giving up? Have you gone mad? She's right there for the taking!"**

"And where are we to go, exactly?"

"_Any place is better than here, don't you agree?" _

"**I surely do." **

"I'm sure you would," he muttered, gliding his hat over his eyes. "As for now, I wash my hands of the both of you." And with that, he closed his eyes, drifting off into a dark and distant world, laying his weary bones to rest.

A pair of eyes on short stalks examined him from a distance, their owner holding their white, snapping crustacean claws in the air as it slowly commenced its pursuit. It shuffled it's short, broad, and more or less flattened body to Jack's side, continuing to clack together its claws at the sight of his fatigued corpse.

Turning rhythmically to where it came from, the small creature began to squeak, calling out to something in the distance. It saw movement in the distance from the salt ridden sand; excitedly the small crustacean began snapping its claws in a more enthusiastic manner. An army of similar crab-like creatures began to move beneath the radiating heat of the sun, casting dark, moving shadows along the bland landscape. They hastened their pace with each snap of the lone crab's claw, reaching their destination in record time.

The mass of crustaceans huddled around Jack, one-by-one crawling beneath his body, utilizing all of the strength they could muster to lift his limp carcass. They moved him slowly, as if he were being carried along on a cloud in some sort of pleasant dream, depositing him beneath a dark shadow that was cast by the _Black_ _Pearl_ to shade him from the blatant harshness of the sun.

With the snap of a claw, they were gone, all but one that decided to remain by his side.

It was the first time that the heat had not stirred him back to consciousness. Rather, it was the crisp air that fluttered gently on his cheeks that startled him to wake, feeling as though something was amiss.

He propped himself upon his elbows, realizing that for the first time his body was not exceedingly hot in temperature and his surroundings appeared to be shaded. He turned his attention to the dark, enormous object that loomed over his body and felt his eyes grow wide with enthusiasm, it was his _Pearl_.

He leapt up to his feet, dashing toward the bow of the vessel, touching it gently with his hands. "'Ello, darling," he cooed, smiling at his muse as he grazed his fingers along the blackened wood.

He looked up; evaluating her condition since the last time they were together, as one. It seemed as though the Kraken had inflicted no lasting effects on her physically, but then again he didn't know for sure. He felt the urge to be at her helm, to sail with her into the horizon as they had done together so many times before. He could not escape the want or the need to feel such wholeness again.

"_So, how are you going to get up there?"_

"**Aye, what's the plan this time, mate?"**

"Not really much for planning things out, I just let it come to me," Jack affirmed, squinting his eyes up at the _Pearl's_ rail while pushing back his coat to place his hands on his hips.

"_What's that?"_the voice inquired, causing Jack to turn his head slightly to the right. He watched as, what seemed like a long, cylindrical piece of string fell from the sky to the ground beside him. It fell in such a way that it coiled around itself, just as a snake would when consuming its prey.

"Rope," Jack clarified, cocking his head suspiciously at the coil of rope, positioned at his side. He looked up at the _Pearl_ then back down to the rope, eloquently wiggling his fingers before picking up the end of the rope that hung, loosely, over the coil.

"_Seems as though, dear ol' Jack still has a bit of luck after all_!"

"**That surely came to you willingly."**

"_As do many other things…"_

"Perhaps, it is a gift, finally," Jack pondered aloud.

"_A gift? For what? Is it our birthday?"_

"Oh shut it! As I was saying ... perhaps, it is a gift – for being honest," he explained, picking up the coil of rope, placing it upon his shoulder while peering up, once again, at the _Pearl_.

"**I'd hold that thought**, **if I were you.**"

"_Oh, look!"_

"What?"

"**Hark! Who goes there?"**

"_Not a who, but a what - down there!"_

Jack turned about, looking down at the ground beneath him. He scanned the shaded, white landscape and to his surprise, he came across a small, circular object at his feet.

"_A rock!"_

"Rock? What are you doing here?" he inquired, knowing he would receive no answer.

"_That's odd."_

"Not as odd as you two. I think you should give the little geode some credit for following us this far," he stated, pointing at the object.

"**I see." **

"Talkative little fellow, aren't you?" he asked sarcastically, breathing a small chuckle as his picked it up with two fingers.

"_Don't think he likes you that much, if you ask me." _

"**Why wouldn't it? We're absolutely charming. Perhaps, even down right delectable."**

Jack placed the rock flat on his palm, weighing it for a moment, eying its perfectly circular exterior. He repositioned the rope upon his left shoulder, realizing that it was slithering down his arm as if it wished to be reunited with the ground.

"Where do you think you're going?" Jack asked the rope as he shifted the coil into a more comfortable position on his shoulder.

He paused, looking down at the rock for a moment, shifting his eyes again to the coil of rope. Turning, he looked up at his magnificent galleon, the _Black Pearl,_ longingly; her depressed, black hull baked in the sun as her once majestic sails held on lifelessly to her yards. He took several gliding steps backward, shielding his eyes from the sun with left hand, putting the pieces of the puzzle together in his mind.

He looked down at the rock once more, taking the tale end of the coil to wrap it tightly around the rock, intersecting the rope before tying it securely. Holding the rope loosely in his fingers, he let the rock dangle for a moment, checking to see if it would not slide out of his ingenious device.

Looking up, he spotted the lateen sail that assumed gigantic dimensions with a yard that consisted of two or three spars lashed together with wooldings. The foot of the lateen yard was significantly thicker than the head, so it made perfect sense as to where Jack should aim for.

He coiled the rope into wide sections in his right hand, making sure that the rock remained on the outside, away from his body. Moving the coils to his left hand, he grabbed the other end of the rope beginning to swing the rope above his head once or twice before throwing it up to the yard.

It spun several times about the yard until coming to a stop, dangling slightly in the air. He pulled the rope, securing it tightly to the yard.

"_That was rather intelligent."_

"**Aye, bravo, mate. Now, haul us up!"**

Reaching up to grab the rope with one hand directly underneath the other, Jack wrapped his legs around it, placing the rope security between his thighs. He hooked one foot in front and one foot behind the rope, pulling his body up with his arms. Each time his chest reached the same level as his hands; he would squeeze the rope with his legs and feet and reaching his hands up one at a time. Re-grasping the rope with one hand directly underneath the other, he loosened the grip with his legs and pulled again, continuously repeating the task until his body was level with the _Pearl's _deck.

"_Tired yet?"_

"**Hope we're not too heavy."**

"Stow it!" he demanded, beginning to shift his weight back and forth, attempting to swing himself forcefully enough to land on the _Pearl's _deck. As he swung, he greeted each gust of wind as if it were his last, realizing all of the little things he took for granted in his mortal life.

"**This is quite fun."**

"_Well spoke. Invigorating, isn't it?"_

He shifted his weight for one last swing, relinquishing his grasp on the rope, propelling his body through the air. He felt his body slam into a hard surface, shaking his head to straighten his disoriented sight. Slowly, he rose to his feet, familiar solid wood beneath him at last. He adjusted his frockcoat, looking up after he fully regained himself, realizing that he was not the only one on his _Pearl_.

"Captain!" yelled Mr. Sparrow, running to his side. "We were wondering where you had run off to!"

Jack scanned the sea of replicas before him. "This certainly keeps getting better, doesn't it?" he said, sarcastically, leaning back into his swagger.


	3. III: Day 24

**A/N**: Nom! Peanuts!

Thank you Nytd for your beta magic and for being the reddest of all red pens ;)

Inspired by this weeks challenge "reign" at the Broken Compass Forum.

Enjoy!

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_**Day 24**_

**---**

Night was the moon's beloved and the sun's most hated foe. Night was when words and actions faded out gracefully to let the skies come alive. The disparaging analysis of another beleaguered day had come to an end and all that is truly important became somewhat whole and sound again in unconscious dreams. Hundreds of thousand stars set the sky blaze, causing it to resemble the brightness of day, causing the sun to grow more passionate with each rise, setting fire to the landscape in a sweltering rage over it's jealousy of the moon's reign.

He let his eyes wander along the calm seas of dark blue oblivion above him. There was something haunting about the speckles of light that surrounded the glowing moon. They had all the allure of an ethereal soul and something of their inconceivable mystery caused Jack to quiver inside. Almost as if he was being watched; the moon possessing a mind of its own and beckoning him to its call.

A bell sounded, echoing two chimes of energy along the _Pearl's_ enigmatic decks, indicating that his middle watch had come to an end. Yet, he did not waver from his stance, taking the pegs of his beloved's wheel, continuing to look out before him, letting his eyes painfully scan the brigade of dead sails upon wilted black yards.

The course sail on the lower mast lay limp and disheartened, causing him to feel the same disillusionment in his heart as he watch his beautiful ship slip away to oblivion right before his eyes. He furthered his sights to the fore course, and the course of the main mast; the mizzen's crossjack, feeling the same pain in its loss of life.

He tilted his head back, peering up at topgallant staysail. He sighed, looking down at the peg he held firmly in his hand, noticing a slight chip on its exterior. He gently ran his thumb above it, losing himself in the _Pearl's_ motionlessness tranquility.

"Captain?" a voice called out from behind.

He turned, unconsciously tightening his grip on the wheel and he glanced over his shoulder to the deckhand with a dull, empty glaze.

"I've come to relieve you of your duties, sir," Mr. Sparrow announced, nesting his hands behind his back, averting his eyes to the ground.

"Aye, so you have…" he sighed, clearing his throat as he took a step back, giving enough room to let Mr. Sparrow slide into position. No one could ever relieve a captain of his duties, especially the captain of a vessel that once sailed so gallantly into the horizon; her mighty hull proudly presided over each crest of the sea.

It was a silent exchange, from one hand to another, weary eyes to fresh, capable hands to the incapable. And for what? The hopes to find that something in this bleak landscape might change? He rather doubted it.

His cabin remained the same, countless maps littered across a rectangular chart table, a globe idly spinning, books laid open to pages unread, and calipers carelessly tossed to the side toward a lone candle, dimly lighting the course of a journey never sailed.

His cot lay in the same position, haphazardly turned to a diagonal. A slight sag in the coconut and horsehair fiber stuffing within the mattress accounted for countless backaches in the morning. Yet, it was the best sleep he had ever had. His cold, linen sheets waited patiently throughout the day to engulf his muscular form once more at night.

"_Better to have a bit of sleep, Jackie."_

"**The way you look, you'll sleep like a rock."**

"Like a rock, aye?" he thought aloud, wiggling his toes as he began removing his coat, hanging it gently on a chair beside his cot. Slipping his shirt over his head; he groaned, feeling sharp pains in his muscles. He crossed one arm in front of his chest, placing his palm of his hand on top of his shoulder, beginning to knead the muscles in a rhythmic motion at the base of the neck, moving out toward the arm in increments. He wiped away several stray droplets of perspiration from his chest before surrendering to the comforts of his cot for another evening.

"_Aye, like a rock." _

"**Nay, much more better, you'll sleep like a slab."**

"_A tempting offer, not-so-fleshy one. Surely a slab sounds much sturdier and more enticing than sleeping on a pile of rubble." _

He let his body fall upon the roughness of his thin mattress, hearing his bed frame whimper from his cascading weight. His eyes no longer peered up at a sky speckled with stars but instead, lying on his back, he scanned a drab wooden ceiling, thinking about whether that moment of utter bliss was truly made by the hand of he who is named "God", or if it was only happening in his wildest and most imaginative dreams.

"_You'll feel better in the morning, mate."_

"**Aye, we've the **_**Pearl**_** back in our possession, that's the most important thing. S'only a matter of time before we escape."**

"_Best to think positively!" _

"Hold on a minute! Rock! Bloody hell, it's still up there!" Jack exclaimed, rising from his cot. He jolted to the door with an agile spring in his step, slamming against the rough, black doorframe before pushing the two large French doors open with the palms of his hands.

"**What was he babbling about?" **

"_Haven't the slightest idea. Don't know where he gets it from. Quite sad, if you ask me." _

Jack ran out on deck to the mizzenmast, stopping for a moment to peer up at the lateen sail that loomed over him like a dispirited ghoul. The lift was attached to the peak of the yard with a more or less complex arrangement of crowsfeet which ran across to the mizzen's mainmast and ended at the deck with a purchase. He spotted the rope he had used to board the _Black Pearl_ just several days prior, finding it still wrapped tightly around the end of the lateen yard.

He propelled himself forward, tightly wrapping his fingers around the purchase. He bit his lip, pulling himself up with every bit of strength he had left in his sore arm muscles. He bound his legs around the purchase, looking above him to the aftermost main shrouds of the mizzen, reaching his arms out to grasp the shrouds as he pounced forward from one point to another.

He climbed up to the yard, balancing himself as he inched his way down to the small object that lay caged within a tight wrapping of knotted rope.

"Thought I'd forgotten about you, aye?"

He took the rock gently in his hands. "S'alright, Jackie's got you now," he cooed, attempting to untie the intricate knots of rope, slightly regretting how much of a fine job he had done at keeping it rather sturdy.

Once he had freed the little geode from its confinement, he carefully made his way back down the shrouds, jumping down to the main deck, the echoing thud of his boots emanated throughout the ship as his feet met forcefully with the old wooden boards.

He stepped forward toward the rail, placing the small rock upon the ledge. "Much better, don't you think?" he stated triumphantly, placing his hands on his hips as he shifted his weight from one leg to another.

"Go on, now!" he exclaimed. "You've got a whole life ahead of you, mate. Don't waste it here with the likes of me."

"**Talking to rocks now, are we?"**

"_I told you he's gone mad."_

"**No hope for us now, is there?"**

He extended a finger to the rock's smooth surface, poking it gently on its side, letting it slide forward just a bit to the edge. "Oi! I know you can hear me."

"Captain?" inquired a voice from behind.

Jack jumped in his skin, unconsciously sliding the rock over the edge of the rail, listening to it plummet to the ground. Turning, he jolted at the sight of Mr. Sparrow staring at him square in the eye in bewilderment.

"What are you doing?" he inquired further.

"Nothing," he squeaked. "Nothing at all, in fact, I was just checking the condition of the bowlines, Mr. Sparrow," he lied, clearing his throat.

"Is there something amiss, Captain?" he inquired, cupping his hands behind his back.

"Amiss, Mr. Sparrow?" he reiterated. "Of course, there is something amiss here. Can you not see it?" Jack continued, shifting his eyes frantically.

"Nay, I do not," he answered, noticing a bit of hostility in Jack's eyes, "Begging your pardon, Captain."

"Son, what do bowlines do?"

"Well, sir, by my reckoning, they're for keeping the leech well out when sailing close-hauled."

"Aye, very good, lad," he stated, nodding his head. "As you know this vital piece of rigging needs to be quick and straightforward to operate at sea, taking into consideration the crew of bumbling fools we've acquired on this journey of ours," he added quickly.

"But, the same principle can be applied for inclement weather just as well. Yet, to my dismay, if not handled properly or with hands capable enough of such a daunting task, then the safety of the entire ship is at risk. With that being said, what, pray tell, is wrong with this picture, Mr. Sparrow?"

Mr. Sparrow nodded his head, darting his eyes along the length of the ropes, still unable to comprehend his Captain's inquiry.

Jack sighed. "Move," he motioned by flicking his fingers at the man. "First off, it's much too complex of an arrangement of rope," he explained, taking the rope in his hands, tugging it to illustrate his point, finishing by gliding his fingers across its rough exterior.

"Secondly, the rope's damaged," he pointed out, handing the rope to Mr. Sparrow. "Perhaps, from the heat," he furthered, curling his lip at its visible change in appearance, that was probably caused by being exposed to the rising temperature. "Still no excuse for negligence," he spat.

"But, it's no matter," he began. "It'll have to be redone in the morning … What are you doing?" he asked, noticing Mr. Sparrow mulling something over in his mouth.

"Nothing," he chimed defensively, visibly chewing some sort of substance in his mouth.

"Nothing, you say?" Jack prodded inquisitively, slowly stepping toward Mr. Sparrow. "So, what's that in your mouth there?"

"Oh that," he chuckled, knowing that his charade would be short lived. "Peanuts."

"Food? We have food?" Jack inquired desperately, raising his brow.

"No, sir, we have peanuts. Lots of them, in fact," he stated knowingly, retrieving another handful of peanuts from his pocket.

"We have food and you didn't tell me?"

"S'not much left," Mr. Sparrow added, picking more peanuts out of his pocket and slipping them into his mouth.

"How much, exactly?"

"Just one more bag in the galley, sir," Mr. Sparrow stated in between mouthfuls.

Before Mr. Sparrow could finish his thought, the gnawing feeling in Jack's stomach began to reinstate its presence. The ravenous hunger pain he had blocked out since the beginning of this whole ordeal had come back with an unrelenting force. It was the very same twinge he listened to each night as his stomach ached for food as he lay in bed.

He backed away. "In the galley, you say?"

"Aye, but, I've got some…" he began, losing his place as he noticed his captain jolting away to the galley steps, "…right here, Captain."

"**More for us!"**

"_Pass 'em over, fleshy!"_

"No," He recoiled. "My peanuts!"


	4. IV: Day 29

**A/N**: This short story is coming to an end, only one last chapter to go! This chapter contains my one-shot "Lack of Direction" with a few things added.

Enjoy this while it lasts, gents!

* * *

_**Day 29**_

---

At first, he had wanted to ration the last sack of peanuts, illustrating an unwavering effort in physical and mental restraint, yet, the recent demands on his afterlife were a struggle and he knew that those who have had everything given to them become lethargic and selfish to the genuine values of life. He had eaten almost half the sack of nuts within the first two days of its discovery, finally realizing the true meaning of starvation and the bliss in satisfying his physical needs. Rationing had now become imperative.

There was short weight in every ration, causing him to rethink his ration structure on a daily basis. The only point he debated was of how short of a weight. So, every day he would take a quick look within the burlap sack to soothe the hunger pains in his stomach – that day, maybe, he'd pilfer an extra handful, stowing it in his pocket for later consumption.

"**One additional handful today, is one less handful tomorrow - could turn out to be a quite problematic in days to come."**

"It's already a problem because I have no choice but to ration it," he sighed, knowing that cutting his rations was a last resort, but he really had no alternative

"**So it seems."**

"As Captain, I have to make sure that me crew receives the same opportunity," he reasoned.

"_Never really liked peanuts, but they've certainly grown on me. Let me have my ration now, fleshy."_

"I think you've had quite enough," he sneered.

"**Now, let's think about this for a moment shall we?" **

"Think about what, exactly? If a crew of men is left hungry, then their leader is held accountable, not the likes of you."

"**Ponder this, my fleshy host, the more you ration the less there is for you."**

"_A viable point, wouldn't want to risk our plan of escape over a couple of peanuts here and there."_

"**Aye, now what say you to that?"**

"That would starve us all, or near it," he stated incredulously. "I would not be able to escape without a crew either way."

"**Starving yourself throughout your afterlife is no laughing matter, Jackie."**

"_Aye, you cannot deny your innate instinct toward self preservation!"_

"Oh shut it! I wash my hands of the both of you," he exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air as he exited his cabin to the main deck.

"I want movement! Remove the gaskets, let go of the clew lines and the bunt lines, Mr. Sparrow!" Jack shouted, walking assertively amongst a brigade of long haired, tattooed rogues.

"Captain, do we finally have our heading?" Mr. Sparrow inquired, walking swiftly to his captain's side.

"Aye, son. West," Jack replied with haste, making his way up to the _Pearl's_ quarterdeck.

"Are you certain, Captain? You didn't even look at your compass."

"If you hadn't noticed, Mr. Sparrow, the compass is no longer of sound mind nor spirit. But, with my innate sense of direction, we'll be able to get ourselves out of this mess," Jack assured, licking his index finger sloppily between his lips, holding it out before him to measure the wind.

'W_hat the hell am I doing? There's no bloody wind,'_ he thought, placing his hand back on his waist.

"Hoist the yard, you scabrous dogs!" Jack ordered, adjusting his frock coat. Looking on as a group of men began hauling the clew lines to bring the clews up to the ends of the yards. He shifted his attention to another team that was in charge of bringing the bunt line's foot up to the yard.

"Might I inquire as to why we are heading west, sir?"

"Are you questioning my judgment, Mr. Sparrow?" Jack questioned, turning to glare at the deckhand, feeling a spark of anger ignite within him.

"No, not at all, sir," Mr. Sparrow assured, waving his arms out to his captain. "All I meant was, without a working compass and all, how would you know which direction, is indeed, the right one?"

Jack stood for a moment, licking his teeth gingerly. "Do you have any suggestions, lad? If not, then I have a suggestion for you --"

"Aye, sir?"

"Shoo," Jack stated, waving Mr. Sparrow off to the side so he could take his proper place at the helm.

"Well, er … what about north?"

"What about it?" Jack inquired, wrinkling his nose as he placed his hands upon the wheel's smooth pegs, monitoring the vigorous activity on deck while drumming the edges of his fingers lightly.

"Well, why not place it in the hat for consideration?"

"You know my compass never really pointed north … Don't you have something else to do?"

"Well, perhaps, it would have if it still worked, of course, seeing that you're here at the moment. North seems like a viable heading to me, if you were asking me, of course. Don't want to look like we're shooting cardinal directions out of our arse, do we?"

Jack pondered Mr. Sparrow's statement for just a moment, letting his eyes wander beyond the _Pearl's _grand, black sails, peering out empathically over the white abyss before him, unable to fathom that he no longer felt the creak of the _Pearl_ beneath him, shifting from tide to tide with utter grace and ease.

"Nay, we do not," he replied slowly.

"I suggest that we head north, sir. We might have a better chance of reaching the top of this wasteland and freeing the lot of us along with the _Pearl_, bringing her back to life, so to speak," Mr. Sparrow suggested.

The saddest part was, she was no longer living and neither was he. He was a man missing his purpose – a man detached by his inability to feel the license to do as he pleased, the freedom of nature and the dancing of wind that traveled elegantly upon the sea, seeping through his tangled locks.

He longed for the sprinkles of sea mist upon his cheeks and for the turbulence of life in a sea of bland disdain.

**"The lad makes a good point, mate."**

_"Aye, but it's really all a matter of perspective, if you ask me."_

**"Perhaps, a matter of semantics."**

"Or, perhaps, it is a matter of not having a bloody compass?" he snapped.

"_Now, Jackie, there's no need to blame the compass, you said it yourself."_

"**I wouldn't rule out the lad as naïve just yet, because honestly, if we don't rescue ourselves, then no one will?" **

"_Certainly not the whelp and his bonny lass."_

"We can only hope not," he sighed.

"**They're what got us in this mess in the first place!"**

"_Don't forget Barbossa, that slimy ol' cur."_

"**Who'd want to remember him?"**

"Gibbs," Jack spoke amidst the heated discussion. "He'd come for me, I know it."

"_Even the greatest of companions are not always as loyal as they might appear to be."_

"**Aye, you have to admit, the man is a superstitious mess. Can't imagine that he'd cross over to the land of the dead for anyone."**

"He would, Gibbs is a good man, even with all his faults. He'd come for me, I'd bet me life on it!" he exclaimed.

"**Would you now?"**

"_Don't mean to be cynical, Jackie, but it's the harsh reality of life that we must all come to terms with, at one point or another."_

"**Not saying that because the truth is too difficult to comprehend. It's just that the easiest and most comfortable course for us at this very moment is to seek insight where it accords with our emotions, especially ****selfish**** ones."**

"_You can only gain from here on out."_

"**If you're willing to sail those waters, of course."**

He paused, licking his teeth as he reached into his pocket, searching for his handful of peanuts, only to find them gone.

"_Can't exactly trust anyone, can you, mate?"_

"**Not even yourself."**

"Mr. Sparrow, brace the fore --" he paused, turning full circle, coming to the realization that his once bustling ship was now sparse of any human activity but his own.

"Fine -- I'll do it meself. You're all bloody useless."


	5. V: Day 35

**A/N**: Le sigh. This epic has finally come to an end. I'll miss them all so dearly! :( Nothing better than being surrounded by Jacks!

Just wanted to thank Nytd, once again. She is an absolutely wonderful beta and great guidance through my Jack mania.

Enjoy this, mates!

* * *

_**Day 35**_

---

In six days he had eaten every last peanut, leaving none of anyone but himself. His gravitation toward selfishness was an inevitable and undeniable force, a spiteful vice that did not deserve forgiveness from others. His inner discourse had entirely taken over his behavior, making him focus the perceptions of his environment and experiences instead of his environment and experiences themselves.

He was self-defeated, and constantly faced with a new decision where there were several options involved. Which path would be the correct one, which option would best serve his purpose and which choice appeared most suitable were some of the key questions on which he _used_ to base his decision.

Man, by nature, has always been interested in maximization of his profits whether professional, personal or monetary to say the least, but no man would deliberately want to take a risk that is bound to go awry. In almost every case, man carefully studies the situation and then chooses the best option available to him, but that was not the case. Jack had fallen, unable to distinguish between choices that are determined by desire and those that are merely influenced by it.

Early that day, he had caught one of his many deckhands with a stolen peanut from _his_ daily ration; he shot the man in cold blood, without a moment's hesitation, blowing the smoke from the barrel of his pistol as if he were blowing away another unless soul from his presence. No matter, he retrieved what was rightfully _his_, accounting for _his_ stolen ration.

"My peanut," he affirmed, strolling on to confront his next victim. Little did he know that the utter regret of his actions would come swiftly, only moments after his encounter with Mr. Sparrow.

"Mr. Sparrow."

"Aye, Captain?"

"What say you about the condition of this tack line?"

"It be proper to my eye, sir."

"Proper? It is neither proper nor suitable, sir, it is neither acceptable nor adequate. It is in obvious fact, an abomination."

"Beggin' your pardon, sir, but perhaps if you gave a man another chance," he remarked, attempting to mend his mistake.

At that moment, the flower of egocentricity came into full bloom, allowing him to only think of himself, forgetting the rights and well-being of others. Neglecting or, worse still, exploiting others, ultimately cost him greater than he could have ever imagined.

"Shall I?" he inquired, feeling the blade of his cutlass suddenly come to life, slicing through the innards of Mr. Sparrow. "That sort of thinking got us into this mess."

From that moment on, he would have no friends, nor followers - only cowardly onlookers, who would secretly rejoice as soon as tragedy befell him, instead of being concerned for his well-being.

In the end, he washed his hands of them all, including his own conflicting scruples, in need of a change of scenery, to say the least, plunging back down to the desolate white abyss he had originated from.

He fell flat on the familiar patch of ground, springing to his feet to check the wind, quickly forgetting that there was no bloody wind in the first place. He was confident that he alone could find a method of escape, looking toward a lone piece rope for guidance, thinking that he could move the _Pearl_ by his passion to set her free.

He pulled as hard as he could, the rough edges of the rope burning his palms as his grip began to slip from perspiration, but despite all of his painstaking effort, the _Pearl _chose to not budge from her final resting place. It was apparent that the large black vessel was in no mood to move itself.

"**S'not working out well for you is it, mate?"**

"_Might I offer a morsel of advice?" _

"Oh, bloody hell. What is it now?" he inquired in frustration.

"**You've really got to lean into it, mate. Just stick your arse out and heave!"**

"_What?_ _You're really expecting to move that thing just from sticking out your arse?"_

"Gentleman, I believe that's enough talk about my backside, if you please."

"**Why? I think it's worth mentioning." **

"Bloody hell…" he groaned, placing a hand on his forehead.

"_If I may interject for just a moment, gents…"_

"Unless you've got something useful to say, I'd suggest that you shut it as well!" he exclaimed, tugging at the rope once more.

"_I can let you both have at it, if you will."_

Jack shifted his eyes, dropping the rope to his feet as he stared up longingly at his majestic _Pearl_.

"_Seems like such an awful waste, if you ask me."_

"Let's have it then," he sighed in defeat.

"_That's what I thought," _the voice confirmed, letting Jack ponder for a moment in silence.

"_Rocks." _

"Rocks?" he reiterated, crinkling his nose.

"_Aye, rocks. Apparently, they've taken a liking to us."_

The voice prompted Jack to turn his attention to the ground, scanning the area beside his feet to find a rather flat, yet circular object near his boot. He was clearly disturbed by its presence, but warmed by its familiarity.

"Aye, so you made it out alive didn't you?" he stated.

They stood together in a moment of silence, eying one another intently.

"What have I told you, mate? Go on now, shoo!" he finally stated, flicking his fingers at the small object, expecting it move along about its business.

"You know this isn't really helping," he stated knowingly, narrowing his brow as he turned his back to the inanimate object, attempting to ignore it.

Curiosity was indeed a strong and relentless force. Turning quickly, Jack picked the rock up delicately with his fingers, weighing it in his palm before bringing it close to his face.

"Rock," he said, bringing the geode to his lips, examining it with his wet tongue, grimacing at the distasteful flavor. "We have met before, haven't we?"

"_Let me offer you, a more useful piece of advice, Jackie. Let him who lives without sin…"_

"Cast the first stone," he finished, letting a small chuckle escape from his devilish smirk.

"**I think that he who is **_**without**_** sin, is the keyword, mate."**

"Oh, bloody hell! Will you both just shut it?" he yelled, utterly frustrated with his own scruples, throwing the rock as far as he could manage, watching it bounce away in the distance, blending into the coarse and disdainful surroundings of Davy Jones' Locker.

---

Rocks. Aye, rocks had indeed become his only ally – an ally that sought to unify with that part of him that knew what was right and steer him away from wrong. They were steadfast by his side and resolute in their purpose; the rocks sought to set him free, illustrating the great passion he possessed for freedom. It was a passion that could move the unmovable and obtain the unobtainable.

By the end of that very same day, Jack Sparrow was rescued from torment by the men, who he thought, had long forgotten him. He had settled himself with the idea of his stories living on with his absence, but rejoiced inwardly at the thought of living to tell more of his infamous tales, for old time's sake.

Of all the inhabitants of Davy Jones' Locker, none but Jack knew that Hell was indeed cruel and unusual, and that the secret function of purgatory was to make the goodness of the heavens an effective reality.

Two days later, he found himself clenched within the proverbial jaws of death yet again. Standing between the horrid grim reaper and Lucifer himself on a desolate spit of land amidst a war of worlds, finding himself stiffen, holding his breath at the reaper's query.

"Do you fear death?"

He adjusted his hat firmly atop his head. "You have no idea."

* * *

**  
A/N 2**: Keep a look out for my next short fic "_Scarlett's Letters_." Coming soon!


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